and keep this silent memento safe
by Tastytime
Summary: Summer days come and go, and an unlikely friendship blossoms between Anne's old protégé Paul Irving and her son Walter Blythe. Slash. Non explicit


_Hmmm this suddenly popped into my head. I don't think it'll get any readers- very very rare pair! However if you read and enjoy please do review!_

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Title: and keep this silent memento safe

Fandom: L.M. Montgomery's Anne series- Rilla of Ingleside most specifically

Pairing: Paul Irving/Walter Blythe

Warnings: Slash

A/N: I have no idea at all of their age difference so I apologise for that. For the sake of the story Walter is eighteen and Paul Irving is twenty seven. It takes place a year before Walter goes to war

Summary: Summer days come and go, and an unlikely friendship blossoms between Anne's old protégé Paul Irving and her son Walter Blythe. Slash. Non explicit

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_when spring arrived and blossoms bloomed upon the trees, he arrived. silently, walking through the darkened night heavily perfumed with damp jasmine flowers. before him loomed a house of glimmering white, and waiting on the porch steps teacher._

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Anne peered anxiously through the trees, hugging her knees to her, gooseflesh raised even in the warm night, as the darkness showed its power to chill her still. Behind her the house was merry still, the younger ones packed off to bed, the older waiting for the new arrival. She had elected to wait alone, wanting to feast her eyes on the first student she had ever felt she had made an impact on, and how he would have grown up. Some intuitive part of her, thrilled deeply to the idea and she smiled pensively, eyes no longer seeing the dreamy stillness before her, and instead fleeing back years- when she had been so young, and a young child had sat near her and listened with ferocity of mind to what culture she could give.

She was so lost in her musings that she did not see the object of her memories until he was before her, and a gasp escaped her lips as she was rudely yanked back into the world of the present. Before her was not the child she had taught, but a young man of no more than twenty five, and suddenly she felt terribly foolish for thinking that there could be any similarity in past and present. Then the dark blue eyes she still remembered caught her own, and she smiled, awakening that returning magical smile, and all at once the uneasiness was past. The subtle rapport that had always existed between them was still there, and she knew they could understand each other without words as they always had.

For his part Paul Irving studied her face with the admiration only a son or favoured pupil could bestow. She was too young he felt to be his mother, and yet she had filled that place within his life, and the grey strands in the dark auburn hair, and the wrinkles life had imprinted on her features simply made her more beautiful to him. Impulsively he held out his arms, and she embraced him with a firm, motherly hug, and took him by the hand to draw him inside to the fire and the warmth. He smiled on seeing her children, and of the features he could see inherited from their mother, as she introduced them one by one- he had not seen them for years, and he realised with a queer wistfulness that he had been away too long. The chubby baby that had been Rilla, was now almost a young lady, the twins Di and Nan were very certainly so, while all the others had grown beyond recognition. However it was Walter who made him catch a breath. Last time he had seen him he had been a solemn little lad, and the eight years age difference had prohibited much engagement. Now though he looked at Paul sombrely and though his eyes were a different colour to his mother's they shone with much the same warmth and light, and for the first time in many years Paul had the feeling that Teacher had spoke of more than once of the sense of meeting a kindred spirit.

There was no denying that Walter was the most beautiful if such a word could be applied to a youth, of Anne's children, and from the proud gleam in Anne's eyes when she spoke of his writing, the most talented, and Paul longed to speak to him, to uncover what secrets hid behind those long lashed grey eyes that hid so much of the time behind tumbling falls of black hair. Feeling the faint flush in his cheeks, he turned away, not noticing how Walter's eyes lingered on him or their confused expression.

Long days passed and he settled into the slow rhythm of Ingleside days, enjoying the company of his Teacher. When Anne was busy- more often than not with six children, she sent Walter to keep him company, her sensitive soul realising how much pleasure they found in one another's company, and pleased that Walter had someone to who he could truly talk, as he could not talk even to a mother or a beloved sister like Di or Rilla. She watched them occasionally as she went about her chores, or sat and sewed, as they sat in the shade heads bent together in shades of auburn and black. Challenging each other, with every mental weapon they possessed, duelling together despite the difference in age and situation, and finding peculiar sympathetic resonance.

For his part Walter had never been so happy, as the gentle days of spring gave way to summer. Paul Irving was all that could be hoped for in a companion- and his writing was magnificent. When Paul mentioned the prospect of leaving, a pang shot through his heart, and he was bemused by the sensation. "You can't," he blurted out, then blushed and let his eyes fall back to the copy of Blake they had been reading, tearing his eyes away from the gold touched hair of his friend, shimmering in the sun beside him.

Paul gazed at him in mild bemusement. "I wish I could stay as well," he said softly, running his fingers along the ground, gathering dust in his fingers. "But this is not my home and I have trespassed too long on your family."

"Mother would like you to stay forever," Walter said thoughtlessly, and blushed since mother had not said such a thing. He simply knew it to be true, when he saw the evident happiness in her face when she looked at them both, and how happy she seemed to be when she joined their discussions. "I know you can't, you have the world to see and places to go, but stay a little longer. Please?" Greatly daring he touched the hand that lay between them on the dusty grass, and near shivered at the tingle that ran up his arm.

Paul smiled at him sadly, "I wish I could stay forever also Walter. I will miss all of you, but especially Teacher, and of course you." He stumbled over the last words, all too acutely aware of how true they were. It was time to leave he knew, time to tear himself away from the unhealthy fascination that was weaving its tendrils around them both, and yet the malaise and fascination that had been introduced to him rendered him unwilling to leave the flower strewn path that led to what he knew was hell. He knew that a strong man would leave now while he still could, while the lure of beautiful eyes, and able mind could still be resisted, and yet he could not make himself. And even if the thoughts of the disgust that Teacher and Walter would have with him, could not stir him from this slothful ardour.

Walter lay back, skin dappled by the rays of light that filtered through the trees, and stared up into the slices of endless blue heaven that he could see, unsure of what the tumultuous emotion that coursed through him was. The thought of Paul leaving was like a knife piercing through his heart, of not hearing that gentle voice reading lyrics of extraordinary beauty, or seeing those deep eyes light up with emotion, and he closed his eyes to hold back the stupid weak tears that threatened to flood forth. "Please," he whispered unsure of what he was asking. For Paul to stay longer, for Paul to stay forever, for Paul to break the impasse between them. A hint of the tears he was holding back came through in his voice, and immediately Paul's hand was on his forehead, tingling warm on sweaty skin, sending sparks of sensation through him. In that moment Walter found his courage, and surged to sit up, mouth awkwardly colliding with Paul's, in a way that was wrong, _wrong _and yet felt like the sweetest and most natural thing in his life.

Paul's mouth was still and unresponsive, and Walter had never done this before with anyone, and he stilled, their lips still touching, then as though Paul had finally made a decision- and be damned with the consequences, there was movement and a sudden reciprocation, lips tenderly catching Walter's, a kiss as chaste as could be, and yet with a depth of feeling behind it that scared them both with how keenly they felt. Clumsily they moved, Walter settling forward until they were pressed together. Daringly Walter parted his lips unsure of what he wanted, only knowing that he wanted more, and with a muffled groan Paul accepted, deepening their kiss with feather light strokes of his tongue, one hand stealing into Walter's thick black hair, dizzy with the all consuming need within himself. He had done this before during his years in Europe, with women mostly, and a boy once. But nothing had felt like this, like Walter Blythe being this close to him at this moment in time.

It could not last of course. Moments later they both heard quick footsteps, and they broke apart instantly, Walter to bury his flushed face back in Blake, and Paul to stare up at the sky in the same position Walter had been in only moments before. Seconds later Anne made her way into the clearing they had made their own. There is a telegram for you Paul," she said quietly, her eyes moving from one to the other in puzzlement, and yet unable to understand the change in atmosphere between them, the reason for the electric emotion still hanging in the air, and handed it to him.

He ripped it open, and his face seemed to age suddenly. "Father is ill," he said quietly. "I must go at once." He looked up at Anne, and she understood the pain in his face.

"I shall pack you a bag," she said quietly, and turned and walked swiftly back to the house.

Walter looked at Paul, and his heart was in his eyes, though he did not say a word. Paul kissed him first this time, one long slow kiss that said almost everything that could not be put into words. His passion, his dread, his guilt and shame, and the terrible love he had. They broke apart for a second. "I will come back," he said quietly, and Walter nodded dumbly. They both knew in an awful moment of presentiment that for whatever reason this was the only time this could ever happen, and they walked back slowly to the house. Just beyond the curve of the road that would bring them into full view Paul halted, and brushed their lips gently together for the final time. The words were superfluous he knew, but they needed to be said. "I love you."

When Paul was gone, and the household settled down from its tumult of activity, Walter made his way slowly to his bedroom, feeling as aged as though a lifetime of experiences had gone by. On his bed rested a leather notebook, one that he had seen Paul with many times, and in the inside cover in firm strokes was inscribed quickly, _To my Ganymede. _

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_and brave boys march to war, with lover's kisses on their lips, and poems within their heart. the theban band that stands today though divided by space and time._

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Reviews would be lovely if anyone does read this!


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